Insiwuciof Liieratute Series — /Vo. 231 



The Oregon Trail 

Condensed from 
FRANCIS PARKMAN 




INSTRUCTOR LITERATURE SERIES 

Five-Cent Classics and Supplementary Readers 

AN especially fine series of little books containin<;- material needed for Sup- 
^^ pleraentary Reading and Study. Classified and g'raded. Large type for 
lower grades. A supply of these book»» will greatly enrich your school work. 

Jtfff' This list is constantly being added to. If a sudstantial njiinber of books are to be 
ordered, or if other titles than those shoivn here are desired, send for latest list. 

53 Adventures of a Little Watcidrop 



FIRST YEAR 
Fables and Myths 

6 Fairj'^ .Stories of the 'Moon. — Maguire 

27 .-lisop's Fables— Part \—Reiter 

28 ^:sop's Fables— Part 11— Reiter 

29 Indian Myths— ^mjA 
140 Nursery Tales — Taylor 

174 Sun Mjths — Reiter 

175 Norse Legends, I — Reiter 
Nature 

1 Little Plant People— Part l~Chase 

2 Little Plant People— Part 11— Chase 
30 Storj' of a Sunbeam — Miller 

31 Kitty Mittens and Her Friends — Chase 
History 

32 Patriotic .Stories (Story of the Flag, 

Story of Washington, etc.) — Reiter 
Literature 
230 Rhyme and Jingle Reader for Beginners 

SECOND YEAR 
Fables and Myths 

33 vStories from Andersen — Taylor 

34 Stories from Grimm — Taylor 

36 Little Red Riding llooiX— Reiter 

37 Jack and the Beanstalk — Reiter 

38 Adventures of a Brownie — Reiter 
i76 Norse Legends, II — Reiter 
Nature 

3 I^ittle Workers (Animal Stories)— Oai^ 

39 I.,ittle Wood Friends — Mayne 

40 Wings and Stings — Halifax 

41 Story of Wool — Mayne 

42 Bird Stories from the Poets— follie 
History and Biography 

43 Story of the Mayflower — McCabe 

45 Boyhood of Washington — Reiter 

1^.4 The Little Brown Baby and Other Babies 

165 Gemila, the Child of the Desert a<id 

vSome of Her Sisters •*• I 

166 Louise on the Rhine and in IlerJT^j^fw 

Home. {Nos. J64, i6s, 166 are*^^Mezen 
Little Sisters" by Jane Andrews) 

ro4 Boyhood of Lincolu—i^<'z7^r 

Literature 

1 = 2 Child's Garden oi \crses—SteTenson 

20G I'icture Study Stories for Little Children 
— Cranston 

220 Stcry of the Christ QKi\(\—irusho7irr 

THIRD YEAR 
Fables and Myths 

46 Puss in Boots and Cinderella — Reiter 

47 Greek Myths — Kliv^^ensviith 

102 Thumbelina and Drt?.m Stories— A'^/7<'r 
146 Sleeping Beauty and Oir.^r stories 
177 Legends of the Rhiuelaud- i1/<:C«<?'<' 
Nature 

49 Buds, F^etns and Fruits — Mayne 

§1 Story ct jHax — Mayne 

52 Story of Glass — Hanson 



Mavne 

135 Little Peoi,.e of the Hills (Dry Air and 

Dry Soil Plants) — C/ta^^ 
203 Little Plant People of the Waterways - 

Chase 
133 Aunt Martha's Corner Cupboard— Part 

I. Story of Tea and the Teacup 

137 Auut Martha's Corner Cupbo.^rd — Part 

II. Story of Sugar, CoflJ'ee and Salt. 

138 Aunt Martha's Corner Cupboard— Part 

III. Story of Rice, Currants and llont ,• 
History and Biography 

4 Story of AVashington — Reiter 
7 Story of Longfellow — McCabe 
21 vStory of the Pilgrims — Poivei s 
44 Famous Early Americans (Smith, Stan- 
dish, 'P<tn\\)—Bush 

54 Story of Colum))US—i1/cCa&^ 

55 Story of Whittier—;i/cCai^(? 

57 Story of Louisa IM. Alcott— i^M^A 

58 Story of Alice and Phoebe Cary—McFee 

59 Story of tlie Boston Tea Party -McL.abe 
132 Story of Franklin -/^:7;zj 

60 Children of the liovi\\\A\\c\—Bush 

62 Children of the South Lands, I (Florida, 
Cuba, Puerto Rico)— il/r7->^ 

63 Children of the Soutli Lands, II (Africa, 
Hawaii, The Philippines) — McFee 

64 Child Life in the Colonies— I (New 

Amsterdam ) — Baker 

65 Child Life in the Colonies— II (Pennsyl- 

vania) — Baker 

66 Child Life in the Colonies— III(Virgiu- 

\a.)— Baker 

68 Stories of the Revolution— I (Kthan 

Allen and the Green Mountain Boys) 

69 Stories of the Revdlutiou— II (Around 

Philadelphia) — McCabe 

70 Stories of the Revolution— III (Marion, 

the Swamp Vo-s.)— McCabe 

71 Selections from Hiawatha (For 3rd, 4th 

and 5th Grailes) 
167 Famous Artists, I— Landseer and Bon- 

heur. 
Literature 

67 vStory of Robinson Crusoe — Bush 

72 Bow-Wow and Mtw-lNIew— Ort/^' 

233 Poems Worth Knowing Book I Primary 

FOURTH YEAR 
Nature 

7'3 Story of Coal — McKane 

'/6 vStory of Wheat— //a///a;t: 

77 Story of Cotton— />;o7£'M 

78 Stories of the Backwoods— A'-JiV^r 

134 Conquests of Little Plant People- Chase 

136 Peei.s into Bird Nooks, I— McFee 
181 Stories of the Stars— J/<:/r<? 

205 FCyes and No Kyes and the Three Giants 
Continued on third cover 



July, 1912 



INSTRUCTOR LITERATURE SERIES 



The Oregon Trail 

BEING SKETCHES OF PRAIRIE AND ROCKY 
MOUNTAIN LIFE 



By Francis Parkman 



RETOLD AND ABRIDGED BY 

SARAH KATHERINE GRAMES, PH.B. 



PUBLISHED JOINTLY BY 

F. A. OWEN CO., Dansville, N. Y. 



HALL & MCCREARY C.IICAGO, ILL. 



COPYRiGHT, I912, BY F. A. OWEN PUBLISHING Co. 






INTRODUCTION 



Francis Parkman was born in Boston, September 16, 1823. Ht 
was of English ancestry, and on his mother's side could trace his 
descent from John Cotton, He was graduated from Harvard Col- 
lege in 1844 ; for the next two years he was a student at ihe 
Harvard Law School, but he never practiced. 

The journey which forms the subject of the Oregon Trail was 
made immediately upon the completion of his law studies. 

In order to understand its significance, it is necessary to recall 
the geography of the country in 1846. The western boundary of 
the United States was still the western limit of the Louisiana ' 
Purchase of 1803, namely, the summit or watershed of the Rocky 
Mountains. The northern boundary, the forty-ninth parallel, as. 
far as the Rockies, had been fixed by treaty with Great Britain 
only as late as 1842; while the treaty of 1846, extending the same 
line westward and confirming the claim of the United States to 
Oregon, was not signed until June 15, at which time Parkman 
and his companions were on their way. War with Mexico, which 
was to carry the boundary of the United States to the Pacific, 
was declared on May 13 of the same year. 

North and west of Missouri and Iowa, none of the states which 
now occupy this great region had yet been formed. The Terri- 
tory of Wisconsin, organized in 1836, included within its limits 
most of the country between the Great Lakes and the Missouri 
River, north of Iowa ; and Iowa had been admitted as a state only 
about a year before Parkman 's journey began. 

Parkman's journey occupied about five months. Leaving Bos- 
ton in April, 1846, in company with a relative, Quincy Adams 
Shaw, he went first to St. Louis, the trip by railroad, steamboat, 
and stage requiring about two. weeks. Here they secured the 
services of two guides and procured their outfit, including in the 
latter a supply of presents for the Indians. Eight days on a river 
steamboat brought them to Independence, where the land journey 
really began. From this rough frontier town their route took 
them first to Fort Leavenworth, the principal military post on the 
Missouri River, and thence by the Big Blue and Platte rivers to 
Fort Laramie. Here Shaw, wijo'was ill, remained, while Park- 
man, who greatly desired to fie-athe Indian at war, pushed on un- 
til he overtook a party of Ogillallahs bound for the Black Hills to 
hunt buffalo, and, it was thought, almost certain to be attacked 
by hostile Arapahoes or Crows. To venture thus upon an expe- 
dition in which he risked his life, and at a time, too, when he 
was himself so ill as hardly to be able to ride his horse, testifies 
to extraordinary courage and strength of will. 

Fortunately there was no fighting, although there was adven- 
ture in abundance. Returning in safety to Laramie, the party 
went south through Colorado, passing Pike's Peak, to a point 
near the Mexican border, where they met United States volun- 
teers bound for the seat of war. Thence they continued north- 
eastward to Independence, by steamboat to St. Louis, and back 
to Boston. 



4. o^- 



The Oregon Trail 

A five months' trip to the northwest coast of the 
United States and back again! Quincy A. Shaw and 
Francis Parkman made such a journey during the year 
1846. The trip necessarily i: eant hardships, fatigue, and 
danger, for the territory covered by the Oregon Trail 
was entirely uncivilized. It was inhabited by most sav- 
age Indian tribes. Nevertheless, great bands of settlers 
were moving westward, their covered emigrant wagons 
dotting the prairies. Many of the emigrants, especially 
those bound for California, were persons of wealth and 
standing. The hotels of St. Louis were crowded, and 
the gunsmiths and saddlers were kept constantly at work 
in providing arms and equipments for the different parties 
of travelers. Almost every day steamboats were leaving 
the levee and passing up the Missouri, crowded with 
passengers on their way to the frontier. 

Of all the hundreds of people who turned toward 
"Oregon" during that time, there were probably no 
other men who did so for reasons so unusual as did Shaw 
and Parkman. Shaw hoped to shake off the effects of a 
disorder that had impaired a constitution originally hardy 
and robust ; and Parkman was anxious to pursue some 
inquiries relative to the character and usages of the re- 
mote Indian nations, being already familiar with many of 
the border tribes. 

The first rendezvous was Westport, Kansas. The town 
was full of Indians, whose little shaggy ponies were tied 
by dozens along the houses and fences. Sacs and Foxes, 
with shaved heads and painted faces, Shawanoes and 
Delawares, fluttering in calico frocks and turbans, Wyan- 



4 THE OREGON TRAIL 

dottes dressed like white men, and a few wretched Kansas 
wrapped in blankets, were strolling about the streets, or 
lounging in and out of the shops and houses. 

Because of the dangers of traveling, it was necessary 
that the two have camp followers. So they chose Henry 
Chatillon, a Frenchman, for guide and hunter, and De- 
lorier, a Canadian, for muleteer. Four men with eight 
animals composed the original party. 

Delorier was a Canadian, with all the characteristics 
of the true Jean Baptiste. Neither fatigue, exposure, 
nor hard labor could ever impair his cheerfulness and 
gayety, and when night came he would sit down by the 
fire, smoke his pipe, and tell stories with the utmost 
contentment. In fact, the prairie was his congenial ele- 
ment. Henry Chatillon was of a different stamp. He 
was born in a little French town near St Louis, and from 
the age of fifteen years had been constantly in the 
neighborhood of the Rocky Mountains, employed for the 
most part by a company to supply their forts with buffa- 
lo meat. His age was about thirty, he was six feet high, 
and very powerfully and gracefully moulded. The prai- 
ries had been his school ; he could neither read nor 
write, but he had a natural refinement and delicacy of 
mind. Henry was content to take things as he found 
them ; and his chief fault arose from an excess of easy 
generosity. His bravery was as much celebrated in the 
mountains as his skill in hunting ; but it was characteristic 
of him that, in a country where the rifle was the chief 
arbiter between man and man, Henry was very seldom in- 
volved in quarrels. Once or twice, indeed, his quiet good- 
nature had been presumed upon, but the consequences of 
the error were so formidable that no one repeated it. 

After seven or eight days of preparation everything 
was ready. Parkman rode in advance. His outfit had 
been provided with a view to use rather than ornament. 



THE OREGON TRAIL 5 

It consisted of a plain, black Spanish saddle, with hol- 
sters of heavy pistols, a blanket rolled up behind it, and 
the trail rope attached to his horse's neck hanging coiled 
in front. He carried a rifle of some fifteen pounds' 
weight. 

Henry Chatillon was mounted on a hardy gray Wyan- 
dotte pony. He wore a white blanket-coat, a broad hat 
of felt, moccasins, and pantaloons of deerskin, orna- 
mented along the seams with rows of long fringes. His 
knife was stuck in his belt; his bullet-pouch and powder- 
horn hung at his side, and his rifle lay before him, rest- 
ing against the high pommel of his saddle, which, like 
all his equipments, had seen hard service, and was much 
the worse for wear. 

Then rode Shaw, mounted on a little sorrel horse and 
leading a larger animal by a rope. His outfit resembled 
Parkman's except that he carried a double-barreled 
smooth-bore. Each was attired in a red flannel shirt, 
belted around the waist like a frock ; moccasins had sup- 
planted failing boots ; and the remaining essential portion 
of attire consisted of an extraordinary article, manufac- 
tured by a squaw out of smoked buckskin. 

Delorier, the muleteer, brought up the rear with his 
cart, wading ankle-deep in the mud, alternately puffing 
at his pipe, and ejaculating in his prairie patois: "Sacre 
enfant de garce!'* as one of the mules would seem to 
recoil before some abyss of unusual profundity. The cart 
had a white covering to protect the articles within. 
These consisted of ammunition, blankets, and presents 
for the Indians. 

They filed slowly toward the prairies ! Thunder storms 
drenched them to the skin. The shaft mules balked, 
reared and plunged. Carts stuck hub-deep in mud. 
Horses ran away. But undismayed they journeyed on I 

* Sacre enfant de garce: A Freuch curse that when translated loses its force. 



6 THE OREGON TRAIL 

They reached the prairie and had their first conference 
with an Indian — an old Kansas and a man of distinction, 
judging from his garments. His head was shaved and 
painted red, and from the tuft of hair remaining on the 
crown dangled several eagle's feathers, and the tails of 
two or three rattlesnakes. His cheeks, too, were daubed 
with vermilion ; his ears were adorned with green glass 
pendants; a collar of grizzly bears' claws surrounded his 
neck, and several large necklaces of wampum hung on 
his breast. 

The party decided to spend one day at Fort Leaven- 
worth and then bid farewell to the frontier or, as the 
saying is, "jump off." Five or six miles beyond this 
fort is the Kickapoo village, and as the party rode along 
they could enjoy strange scenery. On the left stretched 
the prairie, rising into swells and undulations, thickly 
sprinkled with groves, or gracefully expanding into wide 
grassy basins of miles in extent; while its curvatures, 
swelling against the horizon, were often surmounted by 
lines of sunny woods; a scene to which the freshness of 
the season and the peculiar mellowness of the atmosphere 
gave additional softness. Below, on the right, was a 
tract of ragged and broken woods. They could look 
down on the summits of the trees, some living and some 
dead; some erect, others leaning at every angle, and 
others still piled in masses together by the passage of a 
hurricane. Beyond their extreme verge, the turbid 
waters of the Missouri were discernible through the 
boughs, rolling powerfully along at the foot of the woody 
declivities on its farther bank. 

The path soon after led inland ; and as they crossed an 
open meadow they saw a cluster of buildings on a rising 
ground before them, with a crowd of people surrounding 
them. They were the storehouse, cottage, and stables of 
the Kickapoo trader's establishment. Just at that mo*' 



THE OREGON TRAIL 7 

ment, as it chanced, he was beset with half the Indians 
of the settlement. They had tied their wretched, neglected 
little ponies by dozens along the fences and outhouses, 
and were either lounging about the place, or crowding 
into the trading house. Here were faces of various 
colors; red, green, white, and black, curiously inter- 
mingled and disposed over the visage in a variety of 
patterns. Calico shirts, red and blue blankets, brass ear- 
rings, wampum necklaces, appeared in profusion. The 
trader was a blue-eyed, open-faced man, who neither in 
his manners nor his appearance betrayed any of the 
roughness of the frontier; though just at present he was 
obliged to keep a lynx eye on his suspicious customers, 
who, men and women, were climbing on his counter, 
and seating themselves among his boxes and bales. 

The next stop for our friends was at Fort Laramie, a 
distance many miles from Fort Leavenworth and reach- 
ed only after more than a month's hard travel. Fort 
Laramie was one of the posts established by the Ameri- 
can Fur Company who monopolized the Indian fur trade 
of that whole region. The scenes there were like some 
picture of olden times, with numerous Indians and 
squaws, forming a picturesque and interesting feature. 
You will remember Parkman's reason for going West 
— "to pursue some inquiries relative to the character and 
usages of Indians." Needless to say, since neither the 
ideas nor the manners of the Indians were in the slightest 
degree modified by contact with civilization; since their 
religion, superstitions, and their prejudices were the 
same that had been handed down to them from imme- 
morial times; since they fought with the same weapons 
their fathers had fought with and wore the same rude 
garments of skins, he found much of interest. Not the 
least interesting of all these observations was the old 
method cf setting up camp. It was their ever-followed 



8 THE OREGON TRAIL 

idea to set the lodges in a circle, in the center of which 
crackled a cheery camp-fire. 

Let us approach a hunting camp and enter one of the 
close and heated lodges. Do you see that smoke- 
dimmed, circular settlement? That is a village. Can 
you not distinguish those long brown festoons strung 
from lodge to lodge ? Those are the strings of buffalo 
meat that the squaws have cut into thin sheets that they 
may dry in the sun. But here come several savages to 
meet us and we must let them know that we are friendly. 
Now the ceremony of shaking hands must be gone 
through. They are glad to see us, for they ejaculate the 
friendly "How ! how ! how !" a monosyllable by which an 
Indian contrives to express half of the emotions of which 
he is susceptible. Now that we are in the village you 
can see the lodges are, for the most part, large and neat. 
Shall we look into one tent ? Or if you can bear the 
choking s-moke, enter. There, wedged close together, 
is a circle of stout warriors passing the pipe around, 
joking, telling stories and making merry after their 
fashion. And here come the usual number of bronze- 
colored boys and snake-eyed girls. What is it they are 
saying? "Come and eat!" Unless we offend our enter- 
tainers, we must cast aside desire and follow the mes- 
sengers to their respective lodges. 

Parkman is giving a feast in Big Crow's lodge and we 
will hurry there. We will sit on the ground near the 
opening and see what happens. Here come two men 
carrying two huge kettles of what we know must be 
beetle-soup or dog meat ! These they place in the center 
of the lodge and we can tell by the first whiff that it is 
dog meat. One by one the guests enter and silently seat 
themselves in a close circle. Each warrior is carrying a 
wooden bowl. When all are assembled, the meat is dis- 
tributed by two Indians who are careful to give a double 



THE OREGON TRAIL 9 

portion to old men and chiefs. How quickly all that dog 
meat has disappeared ! With what speed each guest has 
turned his bowl upside down to show that it is all gone ! 
Here comes some bread. And now the two distributers 
are pouring black looking tea into the wooden bowls. 
While the owner of the lodge cuts up his tobacco and 
shongsasha, the company silently fill up pipes and pass 
them from hand to hand. 

Now, if we have survived our share of the feast, we 
may sit back and listen to the speeches. Parkman, with 
great solemnity, speaks of his long journey and of the 
white men beyond the Mississippi. Oft repeated "How! 
how! how!" interrupts from time to time. As he speaks 
of presents he has brought, his camp follower distributes 
tobacco to the delighted savages. We will be bored to 
listen to all the speeches that follow so let's steal quietly 
away. But what is that weird sound? An old chief 
walking about the village singing his song in praise of 
the feast. If we linger awhile we shall see the horses 
brought in from the plains to be picketed before the 
dwellings of their respective masters. But we will go 
away now for we must be back at daybreak if we wish to 
see the tribe break up camp. 

It is daybreak. One by one the lodges are sinking 
down in rapid succession, and where the great circle of 
the village had been only a moment before, nothing now 
remains but a ring of horses and Indians, crowded in 
confusion together. The ruins of the lodges are spread 
over the ground, together with kettles, stone mallets, 
great ladles of horn, buffalo robes, and cases of painted 
hide, filled with dried meat. Squaws bustle about in 
their busy preparations, the old hags screaming to one 
another at the stretch of their leathern lungs. The 
shaggy horses are patiently standing while lodge poles 
are lashed to their sides, and the baggage is piled upon 



10 THE OREGON TRAIL 

their backs. The dogs, with their tongues lolling out, 
lie lazily panting and waiting for the time of departure. 
Each warrior sits on the ground by the decaying embers 
of his fire, unmoved amid all the confusion, while he 
holds in his hand the long trail rope of his horse. As 
their preparations are completed each family moves 
off the ground. The crowd is rapidly melting away. 
They cross the river in quick succession along the profile 
of the hill on the farther bank. Let us follow them and 
see them encamped once more. A little farther on, in a 
very small meadow, set deeply among steep mountains, 
the whole village has encamped. The little spot is 
crowded with the confused and disorderly host. Some 
of the lodges are already completely prepared, or the 
squaws perhaps are busy in drawing the heavy coverings 
of skin over the bare poles. Others are as yet mere 
skeletons, while others still — poles, covering, and all — 
lie scattered in complete disorder on the ground among 
buffalo robes, bales of meat, domestic utensils, harness, 
and weapons. Squaws are screaming to one another, 
horses rearing and plunging, dogs yelping, eager to be 
disburdened of their loads, while the fluttering of feathers 
and the gleam of barbaric ornaments add liveliness to 
the scene. The small children run about amid the crowd, 
while many of the boys are scrambling among the over- 
hanging rocks, and standing, with their little bows in 
their hands, looking down upon the restless throng. In 
contrast with the general confusion, a circle of old men 
and warriors sit in the midst, smoking in profound in- 
difference and tranquillity. The disorder at length sub- 
sides. The horses are driven away to feed along the 
adjacent valley, and the camp assumes an air of listless 
repose. It is scarcely past noon ; a vast white canopy of 
smoke from a burning forest to the eastward overhangs 
the place, and partially obscures the sun ; yet the heat is 



THE OREGON TRAIL 11 

almost insupportable. The lodges stand crowded to- 
gether without order in the narrow space. Each is a 
perfect hothouse, within which the lazy proprietor lies 
sleeping. The camp is silent as death. Nothing stirs 
except now and then an old woman passing from lodge to 
lodge. The girls and young men sit together in groups 
under the pine trees upon the surrounding heights. The 
dogs lie panting on the ground, too Igzy even to growl at 
the white man. 

Have you any idea in what way an Indian death is 
solemnized ? Then come with me and we will attend 
a "funeral." A squaw has just died. The body, gaud- 
ily attired, is placed in a sitting posture in one of the 
lodges. Deep stillness prevails until suddenly the 
Indians raise, in concert, great cries of lamentation — 
a strange sound resembling "Hallelujah." Then still- 
ness comes again. The lodge becomes silently crowded 
with Indians ; a bright fire in the center is encircled with 
mourners in a triple row. A pipe is lighted and handed 
solemnly from one to another until a greater part of the 
night has passed. Fine presents are placed near the dead 
body ; food and necessary implements are there for her 
use upon the long journey. An elegant horse prances 
outside the lodge, waiting to be killed that he may carry 
the spirit of the dead squaw to the villages of the dead. 
But we will not wait for the burial — not even long enough 
to determine what they select for a final resting place. 

And with these funeral rites the mourning does not 
end. Year after year the relatives lament the loss — at 
times moaning out dismal wails; crying violently; gash- 
ing themselves with knives until they are covered with 
blood. 

All the Indians think themselves bound to the con- 
stant performance of certain acts as the condition on 
which their success in life depends, whether in war, love, 



12 THE OREGON TRAIL 

hunting or any other employment. These medicines, as 
they call them, were usually communicated in dreams and 
are often absurd enough. Some Indians will strike the 
butt of the pipe against the ground every time they 
smoke ; others will insist that everything they say shall 
be interpreted by contraries ; others compel every white 
man they meet to drink a bowl of cold water. Kongra- 
Tonga, an old Ogillallah chief, raised up regularly every 
night at twelve o'clock and sang a long monotonous 
chant. 

Another superstition that prevails is the fear to repeat 
legends. "It is a bad thing," an old Indian of eighty 
winters would say solemnly, "to tell the tales in summer. 
Our war parties are going out and our young men will be 
killed if I sit down to tell stories before the frost begins. " 

The Indians believe firmly in dreams. "We shall see 
strangers before night. I dreamed so," is a not uncom- 
mon thing to hear reported. Or "I cannot go to war, 
because one of my young men has had bad dreams. The 
spirits of the dead came and threw stones at him in his 
sleep." 

You could not convince an Indian that the inferior 
animals lack intelligence and a power of understanding, 
for they think they are linked to them ni close affinity. 
They even claim the honor of a lineal descent from 
bears, wolves, deer, and tortoises. Often times they 
consult the animals as to ihe plausibility of any plan. 
The black-and-green crickets they call by a name that 
signifies "They who point out the buffalo." Holding 
this insect respectfully between his thumb and finger, an 
old hunter will inquire, "Tell me, my father, where must 
we go tomorrow to find the buffalo?" If the cricket 
seems to point in any direction the inquirer will add in 
a satisfied way, "We will go that way in the morning 
and find plenty of game." Here is an incident to illus- 



THE OREGON TRAIL 13 

trate their treatment and opinion of dogs. In front of 
the lodge a squaw was standing, angrily scolding an old 
yellow dog, who lay on the ground with his nose resting 
between his paws, and his eyes turned sleepily up to her 
face, as if he were pretending to give respectful atten- 
tion, but resolved to fail asleep as soon as it was all over. 

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" said the old 
woman. "I have fed you well, and taken care of you 
ever since you were small and blind, and could only 
crawl about and squeal a little, instead of howling as you 
do now. When you grew old, I said you were a good 
dog. You were strong and gentle when the load was put 
on your back, and you never ran among the feet of the 
horses when we were all traveling together over the 
prairie. But you had a bad heart! Whenever a rabbit 
jumped out of the bushes, you were always the first to 
run after him and lead away all the other dogs behind 
you. You ought to have known that it was very danger- 
ous to act so. When you had got far out on the prairie, 
and no one was near to help you, perhaps a wolf would 
jump out of the ravine ; and then what could you do? 
You would certainly have been killed, for no dog can 
fight well with a load on his back. Only three days ago 
you ran off in that way, and turned over the bag of 
wooden pins with which I used to fasten up the front of 
the lodge. Look up there, and you will see that it is all 
flapping open. And now tonight you have stolen a great 
piece of fat meat which was roasting before the fire for 
my children. I tell you, you have a bad heart, and you 
must die!" 

So saying, the squaw went into the lodge, and coming 
out with a large stone mallet, killed the unfortunate dog 
at one blow. 

Did you ever hear of the "Thunder-fighters?" It was 
an Ogillallah organization that claimed the exclusive 



14 THE OREGON TRAIL 

power and privilege of fighting the thunder. Whenever 
a storm which they wished to avert was threatening, the 
thunder-fighters would take their bows and arrows, their 
guns, their magic drum, and a sort of whistle, made out 
of the wingbone of the war eagle. Thus equipped, they 
would run out and fire at the rising cloud, whooping, 
yelling, whistling, and beating their drum, to frighten it 
down again. One afternoon a heavy black cloud was 
coming up, and they repaired to the top of a hill, where 
they brought all their magic artillery into play against it. 
But the undaunted thunder, refusing to be terrified, kept 
moving straight onward, and darted out a bright flash 
which struck one of the party dead, as he was in the very 
act of shaking his long iron-pointed lance against it. The 
rest scattered and ran yelling in an ecstasy of supersti- 
tious terror back to their lodges. 

The Great Spirit must be remembered and appeased 
continually. On the eve of the departure of a war party, 
the young men collect outside the encampment, singing, 
calling out and lauding the Great Spirit, that he may 
favor their undertaking. At regular intervals the war- 
riors gash themselves with knives as an act of self-sacri- 
fice to secure the Great Spirit's favor. Sometimes, in- 
stead of using knives the gashes are produced by running 
through the flesh strong splints of wood, to which pon- 
derous buffalo skulls are fastened by cords of hide, and 
the wretch runs forward with all his strength, assisted 
by two companions, who take hold of each arm, until the 
flesh tears apart and the heavy loads are left behind. But 
it is not alone the Great Spirit that the Indian worships. 
Let us observe Old Mene-Seela communing. His face is 
turned upward, and his eyes seem riveted on a pine 
tree springing from a cleft in the precipice above. The 
crest of the pine is swaying to and fro in the wind, and 
its long limbs wave slowly up and down, as if the tree 



THE OREGON TRAIL 15 

has life. The old man is engaged in an act of worship 
or prayer, or communion of some kind with a super- 
natural being. Though the intellect of an Indian can em- 
brace the idea of an all-wise, all-powerful Spirit, the 
supreme Ruler of the universe, yet his mind will not 
always ascend into communion with a being that seems 
to him so vast, remote, and incomprehensible; and when 
danger threatens, when his hopes are broken, when the 
black wing of sorrow overshadows him, he is prone to 
turn for relief to some inferior agency, less removed from 
the ordinary scope of his faculties. He has a guardian 
spirit, on whom he relies for succor and guidance. To 
him all nature is instinct with mystic influence. Among 
those mountains not a wild beast was prowling, a bird 
singing, or a leaf fluttering, that might not tend to direct 
his'destiny or give warning of what was in store for him ; 
and he watches the world of nature around him as the 
astrologer watches the stars. So closely is he linked with 
it that his guardian spirit, no unsubstantial creation of 
the fancy, is usually embodied in the form of some living 
thing— a bear, a wolf, an eagle, or a serpent; and Mene- 
Seela, as he gazes intently on the old pine tree, might 
believe it to inshrine the fancied guide and protector of 
his life. 

The medicine-man— that worst of all imposters— has 
much power over the superstitious Indians. Dressed in 
gaudy garments, besmeared with paint, he thumps the 
diseased with both fists, howls, yelps and beats a drum 
close to the ear to expel evil spirits. When an Indian 
finds himself unable to be cured or is "attacked by some 
mysterious evil," the boldest of them falls prostrate at 
once. He believes that a bad spirit has taken possession 
of him, or that he is the victim of some charm. When 
suffering from a protracted disorder, an Indian will often 
abandon himself to his supposed destiny, pine away and 



16 THE OREGON TRAIL 

die, the victim of his own imagination. The same effect 
will often follow from a series of calamities, or a long run 
of ill success, and the sufferer has been known to ride 
into the midst of an enemy's camp, or attack a grizzly 
bear single-handed, to get rid of a life which he supposed 
to lie under the doom of misfortune. 

A little incident taken from Indian hunting-camp life 
will throw light on the character and the customs of 
these men of the prairies. Characteristic names are 
given to the two warriors in question. 

The Mad Wolf had taken a fancy to a fine horse belong- 
ing to another Indian, who was called the Tall Bear; and 
anxieus to get the animal into his possession, he made 
the owner a present of another horse nearly equal in 
value. According to the customs of the Dakota, the 
acceptance of this gift involved a sort of obligation to 
make an equitable return ; and the Tall Bear well under- 
stood that the other had in view the obtaining of his 
favorite buffalo horse. He however accepted the present 
without a word of thanks, and having picketed the horse 
before his lodge, he suffered day after day to pass with- 
out making the expected return. The Mad Wolf grew 
impatient and angry ; and at last, seeing that his bounty 
was not likely to produce the desired return, he resolved 
to reclaim it. So this evening, as soon as the village 
was encamped, he went to the lodge of the Tall Bear, 
seized upon the horse that he had given him, and led 
him away. At this the Tall Bear broke into one of those 
fits of sullen rage not uncommon among the Indians. He 
ran up to the unfortunate horse, and gave him three 
mortal stabs with his knife. Quick as lightning the Mad 
Wolf drew his bow to its utmost tension, and held the 
arrow quivering close to the breast of his adversary. The 
Tall Bear, as the Indians who were near him said, stood 
with his bloody knife in his hand, facing the assailant 



THE OREGON TRAIL 17 

with the utmost calmness. Some of his friends and rela- 
tives, seeing his danger, ran hastily to his assistance. 
The remaining three Arrow-breakers, on the other hand, 
came to the aid of their associate. Many of their friends 
joined them, the war-cry was raised on a sudden, and the 
tumult became general. 

The Indians are not only brave but cruel and relentless. 
An old Ogillallah chief told Parkman this story of cruelty. 
A party of young braves were scouting in the mountains. 
Here they found two Snake Indians, hunting. They shot 
one of them with arrows and chased the other up the 
side of the mountain till they surrounded him on a level 
place, and Kongra-Tonga himself, jumping forward among 
the trees, seized him by the arm. Two of his young men 
then ran up and held him fast while he scalped him alive. 
They then built a great fire, and cutting the tendons of 
their captive's wrists and feet, threw him in, and held 
him down with long poles until he was burnt to death. 
He garnished his story with a great many descriptive 
particulars much too revolting to mention. His features 
were remarkably mild and open, without the tierceness 
of expression common among these Indians ; and as he 
detailed these devilish cruelties, he looked up with the 
same air of earnest simplicity which a little child would 
wear in relating to its mother some anecdote of its youth- 
ful experience. 

If you have never heard prairie-dogs you will be glad 
to know how they live. Parkman says, "The number of 
prairie dogs was absolutely astounding. Frequently the 
hard and dry prairie would be thickly covered, for many 
miles together, with the little mounds which they make 
around the mouth of their burrows, and small squeaking 
voices yelping at us as we passed along. The noses of 
the inhabitants would be just visible at the mouth of 
their holes, but no sooner was their curiosity satisfied 



18 THE OREGON TRAIL 

than they would instantly vanish. Some of the bolder 
dogs — though in fact they are no dogs at all, but little 
marmots rather smaller than a rabbit — would sit yelping 
at us on the top of their mounds, jerking their tails em- 
phatically with every shrill cry they uttered. As the 
danger drew nearer they would wheel about, toss their 
heels into the air, and dive in a twinkling down into 
their burrows. Toward sunset, and especially if rain 
were threatening, the whole community would make 
their appearance above ground. We would see them 
gathered in large knots around the burrow of some fav- 
orite citizen. There they would all sit erect, their tails 
spread out on the ground, and their paws hanging down 
before their white breasts, chattering and squeaking with 
the utmost vivacity upon some topic of common interest, 
while the proprietor of the burrov/, with his head just 
visible on the top of his mound, would sit looking down 
with a complacent countenance on the enjoyment of his 
guests. Meanwhile, others would be running about from 
burrow to burrow, as if on some errand of the last im- 
portance to their subterranean commonwealth. The 
snakes are apparently the prairie dog's worst enemies, 
at least I think too well of the latter to suppose that they 
associate on friendly terms with these slimy intruders, 
who may be seen at all times basking among their holes, 
into which they always retreat when disturbed. Small 
owls, with wise and grave countenances, also make their 
abode with the prairie dogs, though on what terms they 
live together I could never ascertain. The manners and 
customs, the political and domestic economy of these 
little marmots is worthy of closer attention than one is 
able to give when pushing by forced marches through 
their country, with his thoughts engrossed by objects of 
greater moment." 
And have you ever seen wolves? On the prairie three 



THE OREGON TRAIL 19 

different kinds were present; there were the white 
wolves and the gray wolves, both extremely large, and 
besides these the small prairie wolves, not much bigger 
than spaniels. They would howl and fight in a crowd 
around a single carcass, yet they are so watchful, and 
their senses so acute, that one is never able to crawl 
within a fair shooting distance ; whenever it is attempted, 
they will all scatter at once and glide silently away 
through the tall grass. The air above the spot where 
wolves had been was always full of buzzards or black 
vultures ; whenever the wolves left a carcass they would 
descend upon it, and cover it so densely that a rifle-bullet 
shot at random among the gormandizing crowd would 
generally strike down two or three of them. These birds 
would now be sailing by scores just above camp, their 
broad black wings seeming half transparent as they ex- 
panded them against the bright sky. 

And now for buffalo hunting! First we must know 
about "how to catch buffalo" and then about how one 
buffalo was caught. As our party rode over the prairie 
with its coarse grass, its sand and its scorching sun, they 
found the country before them thronged with buffalo. 

There are two methods of hunting commonly practiced, 
* 'running' ' and ' 'approaching. ' ' The chase on horseback, 
which goes by the name of "running," is the more 
violent and dashing mode of the two. Indeed, of all 
American wild sports, this is the wildest. Once among 
the buffalo, the hunter, unless long use has made him 
familiar with the situation, dashes forward in utter reck- 
lessness and self-abandonment. He thinks of nothing, 
cares for nothing but the game; his mind is stimulated 
to the highest pitch, yet intensely concentrated on one 
object. In the midst of the flying herd, where the uproar 
and the dust are thickest, it never wavers for a moment; 
he drops the rein and abandons his horse to his furious 



20 THE OREGON TRAIL 

career; he levels his gun, the report sounds faint amid 
the thunder of the buffalo ; and when his wounded enemy 
leaps in vain fury upon him, his heart thrills with a feel- 
ing like the fierce delight of the battlefield. A practiced 
and skillful hunter, well mounted, will sometimes kill 
five or six cows in a single chase, loading his gun again 
and again as his horse rushes through the tumult. An 
exploit like this is quite beyond the capacities of a novice. 
In attacking a small band of buffalo, or in separating a 
single animal from the herd and assailing it apart from 
the rest, there is less excitement and less danger. With 
a bold and well trained horse the hunter may ride so 
close to the buffalo that as they gallop side by side he 
may reach over and touch him with his hand; nor is 
there much danger in this as long as the buffalo's strength 
and breath continue unabated; but when he becomes 
tired and can no longer run at ease, when his tongue 
lolls out and foam flies from his jaws, then the hunter 
had better keep at a more respectful distance ; the dis- 
tressed brute may turn upon him at any instant; and 
especially at the moment when he fires his gun. The 
wounded buffalo springs at his enemy; the horse leaps 
violently aside; and then the hunter has need of a tena- 
cious seat in the saddle, for if he is thrown to the ground 
there is no hope for him. When he sees his attack de- 
feated the buffalo resumes his flight, but if the shot be 
well directed he soon stops; for a few moments he stands 
still, then totters and falls heavily upon the prairie. 

The chief difficulty in running buffalo is that of load- 
ing the gun or pistol at full gallop. Many hunters for 
convenience's sake carry three or four bullets in the 
mouth; the powder is poured down the muzzle of the 
piece, the bullet dropped in after it, the stock struck hard 
upon the pommel of the saddle, and the work is done. 
The danger of this method is obvious. Should the blow 



THE OREGON TRAIL 21 

on the pommel fail to send the bullet home, or should the 
latter, in the act of aiming, start from its place and roll 
toward the muzzle, the gun would probably burst in dis- 
charging. Many a shattered hand and worse casualties 
besides have been the result of such an accident. To 
obviate it, some hunters make use of a ramrod, usually 
hung by a string from the neck, but this materially in- 
creases the difficulty of loading. The bows and arrows 
which the Indians use in running buffalo have many ad- 
vantages over firearms, and even white men occasionally 
employ them. 

The danger of the chase arises not so much from the 
onset of the wounded animal as from the nature of the 
ground which the hunter must ride over. The prairie 
does not always present a smooth, level, and uniform 
surface ; very often it is broken with hills and hollows, 
intersected by ravines, and in the remoter parts studded 
by the stiff wild-sage bushes. The most formidable ob- 
structions, however, are the burrows of wild animals, 
wolves, badgers, and particularly prairie dogs, with 
whose holes the ground for a very great extent is fre- 
quently honeycombed. In the blindness of the chase the 
hunter rushes over it, unconscious of danger; his horse, 
at full career, thrusts his leg deep into one of the bur- 
rows; the bone snaps, the rider is hurled forward to the 
ground and probably killed. Yet accidents in buffalo 
running happen less frequently than one would suppose ; 
in the recklessness of the chase, the hunter enjoys all the 
impunity of a drunken rnan, and may ride in safety over 
the gullies and declivities where, should he attempt to 
pass in his sober senses, he would infallibly break his 
neck. 

The method of "approaching, " being practiced on foot, 
has many advantages over that of "running"; in the 
former, one neither brealcs down his horse nor endangers 



22 THE OREGON TRAIL 

his own life; instead of yielding to excitement he must 
be cool, collected, and watchful ; he must understand the 
buffalo, observe the features of the country and the course 
of the wind, and be well skilled, moreover, in using the 
rifle. The buffalo are strange animals ; sometimes they 
are so stupid and infatuated that a man may walk up to 
them in full sight on the open prairie, and even shoot 
several of their number before the rest will think it 
necessary to retreat. Again at another moment, they will 
be so shy and wary that in order to approach them the 
utmost skill, experience, and judgment are necessary. 
Kit Carson, it is conceded, stands pre-eminent in running 
buffalo; in approaching, no man living can bear away 
the palm from Henry Chatillon. 

The frequent stupidity and infatuation of the buffalo 
seems the more remarkable from the contrast it offers to 
their wildness and wariness at other times. Henry knew 
all their peculiarities; he had studied them as a scholar 
studies his books, and he derived quite as much pleasure 
from the occupation. The buffalo were a kind of com- 
panions to him, and, as he said, he never felt alone when 
they were about him. He took great pride in his skill in 
hunting. Henry was one of the most modest of men; 
yet, in the simplicity and frankness of his character, it 
was quite clear that he looked upon his pre-eminence in 
this respect as a thing too palpable and well established 
ever to be disputed. But whatever may have been his 
estimate of his own skill, it was rather below than above 
that which others placed upon it. The only time that a 
shade of scorn was seen to darken his face was when two 
volunteer soldiers, who had just killed a buffalo for the 
first time, undertook to instruct him as to the best method 
of "approaching." To borrow an illustration from an 
opposite side of life, an Eton boy might as well have 
sought to enlighten Porson on the formation of a Greek 



THE OREGON TRAIL 23 

verb, or a Fleet Street shopkeeper to instruct Chesterfield 
concerning a point of etiquette. Henry always seemed 
to think that he had a sort of prescriptive right to the 
buffalo, and to look upon them as something belonging 
peculiarly to himself. Nothing excited his indignation 
so much as any wanton destruction committed among the 
cows, and in his view shooting a calf was a cardinal sin. 
And now let us actually see a buffalo caught by being 
''approached." The farther bank was about four or 
five feet high, and quite perpendicular, being cut away 
by water in the spring. Tall grass grew along its edge. 
Putting it aside with the hand, and cautiously looking 
through it, the hunter can discern the huge shaggy back 
of the buffalo swaying to and fro, as, with clumsy swing- 
ing gait, he advances toward the water. The buffalo 
have regular paths by which they come down to drink. 
Seeing at a glance along which of these his intended 
victim is moving, the hunter crouches under the bank 
within fifteen or twenty yards, it may be, of the point 
where the path enters the river. Here he sits down on 
the sand. Listening intently, he hears the heavy, mo- 
notonous tread of the approaching bull. The moment 
after he sees a motion among the long weeds and grass 
just at the place where the path is channelled through 
the bank. An enormous black head is thrust out, the 
horns just visible amid the mass of tangled mane. Half- 
sliding, half-plunging, down comes the buffalo upon the 
river-bed below. He steps out in full sight among the 
sands. He bends his head to drink. He raises his head, 
and the drops trickle from his wet beard. He stands 
with an air of stupid abstraction, unconscious of the 
lurking danger. Noiselessly the hunter cocks his rifle. 
The stock is at his shoulder; his eye ranges along the 
barrel. The bull, with slow deliberation, begins his 
march over the sands. He advances his fore-leg, and 



24 THE OREGON TRAIL 

exposes to view a small spot, denuded of hair, just be- 
hind the point of his shoulder; upon this the hunter 
brings the sight of his rifle to bear. Quick as thought 
the spiteful crack of the rifle responds to his touch. In 
the middle of the bare spot appears a small red dot. The 
buffalo shivers but does not fall. He totters ; his knees 
bend under him; his head sinks forward to the ground. 

Parkman himself was quite a hunter. He tells of an 
interesting experience he had when he says: "As we ap- 
proached our nooning place, we saw five or six buffalo 
standing at the very summit of a tall bluff. Trotting for- 
ward to the spot where we meant to stop, I flung off my 
saddle and turned my horse loose. By making a circuit 
under cover of some rising ground, I reached the foot of 
the bluff unnoticed, and climbed up its steep side. Ly- 
ing under the brow of the declivity, I prepared to fire at 
the buffalo, who stood on the flat surface about not five 
yards distant. Perhaps I was too hasty, for the gleaming 
rifle-barrel leveled over the edge caught their notice; 
they turned and ran. Close as they were, it was impos- 
sible to kill them when in that position, and stepping up- 
on the summit, I pursued them over the high arid table- 
land. It was extremely rugged and broken; a great 
sandy ravine was channelled through it, with smaller 
ravines entering on each side like tributary streams. 
The buffalo scattered, and I soon lost sight of most of 
them as they scuttled away through the sandy chasms ; a 
bull and a cow alone kept in view. For a while they ran 
along the edge of the great ravine, appearing and dis- 
appearing as they dived into some chasm and again 
emerged from it. At last they stretched out upon the 
broad prairie, a plain nearly flat and almost devoid of 
verdure, for every short grass-blade was dried and 
shriveled by the glaring sun. Now and then the old bull 
would face toward me ; whenever he did so I fell to the 



THE OREGON TRAIL 25 

ground and lay motionless. In this manner I chased 
them for about two miles, until at length I heard in front 
a deep hoarse bellowing. A moment after a band of 
about a hundred bulls, before hidden by a slight swell of 
the plain, came at once into view. The fugitives ran 
toward them. Instead of mingling with the band, as I 
expected, they passed directly through, and continued 
their flight. At this I gave up the chase, and kneeling 
down, crawled to within gunshot of the bulls, and with 
panting breath and trickling brow sat down on the 
ground to watch them; my presence did not disturb 
them in the least. They were not feeding, for, indeed, 
there was nothing to eat ; but they seemed to have chosen 
the parched and scorching desert as the scene of their 
amusements. Some were rolling on the ground amid a 
cloud of dust; others, with a hoarse rumbling bellow, 
were butting their large heads together, while many 
stood motionless, as if quite inanimate. Except their 
monstrous growth of tangled grizzly mane, they had no 
hair; for their old coat had fallen off in the spring, and 
their new one had not as yet appeared. Sometimes an 
old bull would step forward, and gaze at me with a grim 
and stupid countenance ; then he would turn and butt his 
next neighbor; then he would lie down and roll over in 
the dirt, kicking his hoofs in the air. When satisfied 
with this amusement he would jerk his head and shoul- 
ders upward, and resting on his forelegs stare at me in 
this position, half blinded by his mane, and his face 
covered with dirt; then up he would spring upon all- 
fours, and shake his dusty sides ; turning half round, he 
would stand with his beard touching the ground, in an 
attitude of profound abstraction, as if reflecting on his 
puerile conduct. 'You are too ugly to live, ' thought I; 
and aiming at the ugliest, I shot three of them in succes- 
sion. The rest were not at all discomposed at this; they 



26 THE OREGON TRAIL 

kept on bellowing and butting and rolling on the ground 
as before. Henry Chatillon always cautioned us to keep 
perfectly quiet in the presence of a wounded buffalo, for 
any movement is apt to excite him to make an attack; so 
I sat still upon the ground, loading and firing with as 
little motion as possible. While I was thus employed, a 
spectator made his appearance: a little antelope came 
running up with remarkable gentleness to within fifty 
yards ; and there it stood, its slender neck arched, its 
small horns thrown back, and its large dark eyes gazing 
on me with a look of eager curiosity. By the side of the 
shaggy and brutish monsters before me, it seemed like 
some lovely young girl wandering near a den of robbers 
or a nest of bearded pirates. The buffalo looked uglier 
than ever. *Here goes for another of you, ' thought I, 
feeling in my pouch for a percussion-cap. Not a percus- 
sion-cap was there. My good rifle was useless as an old 
iron bar. One of the wounded bulls had not yet fallen, 
and I waited for some time, hoping every moment that his 
strength would fail him. He still stood firm, looking 
grimly at me, and disregarding Henry's advice I rose and 
walked away. Many of the bulls turned and looked at 
me, but the wounded brute made no attack. I soon came 
upon a deep ravine which would give me shelter in case 
of emergency ; so I turned round and threw a stone at 
the bulls. They received it with the utmost indifference. 
Feeling myself insulted at their refusal to be frightened, 
I swung my hat, shouted, and made a show of running 
toward them ; at this they crowded together and galloped 
off, leaving their dead and wounded upon the field. As 
I moved toward the camp I saw the last survivor totter 
and fall dead. My speed in returning was wonderfully 
quickened by the reflection that the Pawnees were 
abroad, and that I was defenseless in case of meeting 
with an enemy. I saw no living thing, however, except 



THE OREGON TRAIL 27 

two or three squalid old bulls scrambling among the sand- 
hills that flanked the great ravine. When I reached camp 
the party were nearly ready for the afternoon move. ' ' 

On the remarkable trip no serious mishaps crept in to 
spoil the journey. Parkman, ever watchful for elegant 
bits of scenery, enjoyed the views by sunrise and sunset, 
at noonday and at night. And well might he revel in 
some of the scenes when before sunrise in the morning 
the snow-covered mountains were beautifully tinged with 
a delicate rose color. One of the most impressive sights 
witnessed in the entire journey was that of Pike's 
Peak and his giant brethren rising out of the level 
prairie, as if springing from the bed of the ocean. From 
their summits down to the plain below they were in- 
volved in a mantle of clouds, in restless motion, as if 
urged by strong winds. For one instant some snowy 
peak, towering in awful solitude, would be disclosed to 
view. As the clouds broke along the mountain, could 
be seen the dreary forests, the tremendous precipices, the 
white patches of snow, the gulfs and chasms as black as 
night, all revealed for an instant, and then disappearing 
from view. One recalled the stanza of "Childe Harold:" 

Morn dawns, and with it stern Albania's hills, 

Dark Suli's rocks, and Pindus' inland peak, 

Robed half in mist, bedewed with snowy rills. 

Array' d in many a dun and purple streak, 

Arise ; and, as the clouds along them break, 

Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer : 

Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak, 

Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men appear, 

And gathering storms around convulse the closing year. 

Every line save one of this description was more than 
verified here. There were no "dwellings of the moun- 
taineer' ' among these heights. Fierce savages, restlessly 
wandering through summer and winter, alone invade 
them. "Their hand is against every man, and every 
man's hand against them." 



28 THE OREGON TRAIL 

Both on their going out and on their coming back they 
met with interesting experiences. One of the noteworthy 
incidents Parkman tells of the rough journey happened 
not far from Fort Laramie. Parkman says, ' 'We passed 
over a burnt tract where the ground was hot beneath the 
horses' feet, and between the blazing sides of two moun- 
tains. Before long we had descended to a softer region, 
where we found a succession of little valleys watered by 
a stream, along the borders of which grew abundance of 
wild gooseberries and currants, and the children and 
many of the men straggled from the line of march to 
gather them as we passed along. Descending still farther, 
the view changed rapidly. The burning mountains were 
behind us, and through the open valleys in front we 
could see the oceanlike prairie, stretching beyond the 
sight. After passing through a line of trees that skirted 
the brook, Indians filed out upon the plains. I was 
thirsty and knelt down by the little stream to drink. As 
I mounted again I very carelessly left my rifle among the 
grass, and my thoughts being otherwise absorbed, I rode 
for some distance before discovering its absence. As 
the reader may conceive, I lost no time in turning about 
and galloping back in search of it. Passing the line of 
Indians, I watched every warrior as he rode by me at a 
canter, and at length discovered my rifle in the hands of 
one of them, who, on my approaching to claim it, imme- 
diately gave it up. Having no other means of acknowl- 
edging the obligation, I took off one of my spurs and gave 
it to him. He was greatly delighted, looking upon it as 
a distinguished mark of favor, and immediately held out 
his foot for me to buckle it on. As soon as I had done 
so, he struck it with all his force into the side of his 
horse, who gave a violent leap. The Indian laughed and 
spurred harder than before. At this the horse shot away 
like an arrow, amid the" screams and laughter of the 



THE OREGON TRAIL 29 

sauaws, and the ejaculations of the men, who exclaimed : 
'Washtay!— Good!' at the potent effect of my gift. The 
Indian had no saddle, and nothing in place of a bridle 
except a leather string tied round the horse's jaw. The 
animal was of course wholly uncontrollable, and stretched 
away at full speed over the prairie, till he and his rider 
vanished behind a distant swell. I never saw the man 
again, but I presume no harm came to him. An Indian 
on horseback has more lives than a cat. ' ' 

Leaving Fort Laramie, they took the southern route 
homeward. They were advised not to attempt the jaunt 
with fewer than twenty men. Indian war parties contin- 
ually scouted the region. One might travel the three hun- 
dred and fifty miles without meeting a single human be- 
ing. But Parkman and Shaw, not being able to collect 
and support twenty men, started out with their compan- 
ions— Chatillon, Delorier and one other man, Raymond. 
These three did not object to the project. Chatillon was 
without fear; Delorier and Raymond without thought. 
As to the other two, Parkman himself says, " Our idea of 
what is indispensable to human existence and enjoy- 
ment had been wonderfully curtailed, and a horse, a 
rifle, and a knife seemed to make up the whole of life's 
necessaries. For these once obtained, together with the 
skill to use them, all else that is essential would follow in 
their train, and a host of luxuries besides. One other 
lesson our short prairie experience had taught us ; that 
of profound contentment in the present, and utter con- 
tempt for what the future might bring forth. ' ' 

So on the fourth day of August, early in the afternoon, 
they turned homeward. Toward night they became in- ^ 
volved among deep ravines ; and being also unable ton 
find water, their journey was protracted to a very late j 
hour. On the next morning they had to pass a long line 
of bluffs, whose raw sides, wrought upon by rains and 



30 THE OREGON TRAIL 

storms, were of a ghastly whiteness most oppressive to 
the sight. As they ascended a gap in these hills, the way 
was marked by huge footprints, like those of a human 
giant. They were the track of the grizzly bear ; and on 
the previous day also they had seen abundance of them 
along the dry channels of the streams they had passed. 
Immediately after this they were crossing a barren plain, 
spreading in long and gentle undulations to the horizon. 
Though the sun was bright, there was a light haze in the 
atmosphere. The distant hills assumed strange, dis- 
torted forms, and the edge of the horizon was continually 
changing its aspect. Shaw and Parkman were ridnig 
together, and Henry Chatillon was alone, a few rods be- 
fore them ; he stopped his horse suddenly, and turning 
round with the peculiar eager and earnest expression 
which he always wore when excited, he called them to 
come forward. They galloped to his side. Henry pointed 
toward a black speck on the gray swell of the prairie, 
apparently about a mile off. "It must be a bear," said 
he; "come, now, we shall all have some sport. Better 
fun to fight him than to fight an old buffalo bull ; grizzly 
bear so strong and smart. ' ' 

So they all galloped forward together, prepared for a 
hard fight ; for these bears, though clumsy in appearance 
and extremely large, are incredibly fierce and active. 
The swell of the prairie concealed the black object from 
their view. Immediately after it appeared again. But 
now it seemed quite near to them and as they looked at 
it in astonishment, it suddenly separated into two parts, 
each of which took wing and flew away. They stopped 
their horses and looked round at Henry, whose face ex- 
hibited a curious mixture of mirth and mortification. 
His hawk's eye had been so completely deceived by the 
peculiar atmosphere that he had mistaken two large 
crows at the distance of fifty rods for a grizzly bear a 



THE OREGON TRAIL 31 

mile off. To the journey's end Henry never heard the 
last of the grizzly bear with wings. 

Soon after leaving Fort Laramie some uncanny Indian 
revels were witnessed. Parkman says: "About midnight, 
as i lay asleep, Raymond came up and woke me. Look- 
ing down into the camp I saw, on the farther side of it, 
a great number of Indians gathered around a fire, the 
bright glare of which made them visible through the 
thick darkness ; while from the midst of them proceeded 
a loud, measured chant, broken occasionally by a burst 
of sharp yells. I walked down to the spot. As I was 
pushing among them with but little ceremony, a chief in- 
terposed himself, and I was given to understand that a 
white man must not approach the scene of their solemni- 
ties too closely. By passing around to the other side, 
where there was an opening in the crov/d, I could see 
clearly what was going forward. The society of the 
"Strong Hearts" were engaged in one of their dances. 
The Strong Hearts are a warlike association, comprising 
men of both the Dakota and Cheyenne nations, and en- 
tirely composed, or supposed to be so, of young braves 
of the highest mettle. Its fundamental principle is the 
admirable one of never retreating from any enterprise 
once commenced. All these Indian associations have a 
tutelary spirit. That of the Strong Hearts is em.bodied 
in the fox, an animal which a white man would hardly 
have selected for a similar purpose, though his subtle 
and cautious character agrees well enough with an In- 
dian's notions of what is honorable in warfare. The 
dancers were circling round and round the fire. They 
would imitate with the most ludicrous exactness the 
motions and the voice of their sly patron, the fox. Then 
a startling yell would be given. Many other warriors 
would leap into the ring, and they would all stamp, whoop, 
and brandish their weapons like so many frantic devils." 



32 THE OREGON TRAIL 

Before the party were aware of it, they were getting 
toward home. "We were passing through the country 
of the half-civilized Shawanoes, ' ' says Parkman. ' *It was 
a beautiful alternation of fertile plains and groves, whose 
foilage was just tinged with the hues of autumn, while 
close beneath them rested the neat log-houses of the 
Indian farmers. Every field and meadow bespoke the 
exuberant fertility of the soil. The maize stood rustling 
in the wind, matured and dry, its shining yellow ears 
thrust out between the gaping husks. Squashes and 
enormous yellow pumpkins lay basking in the sun in the 
midst of their brown and shriveled leaves. Robins and 
blackbirds flew about the fences; and everything in 
short betokened our near approach to home and civili- 
zation. The forests that border on the Missouri soon 
rose before us, and we entered the wide tract of shrubbery 
which forms their outskirts. We had passed the same 
road on our outward journey in the spring, but its aspect 
was totally changed. The young wild apple-trees, then 
flushed with their fragrant blossoms, were now hung 
thickly with ruddy fruit. The vines were laden with dark 
purple grapes, and the slender twigs of the maple, then 
tasseled with their clusters of small red flowers, now 
hung out a gorgeous display of leaves stained by the 
frost with burning crimson. On every side we saw the 
tokens of maturity and decay where all had before been 
fresh and beautiful. We entered the forest, and our- 
selves and our horses were checkered, as we passed 
along, by the bright spots of sunlight that fell between 
the opening boughs. On either side the dark rich masses 
of foliage almost excluded the sun, though here and there 
its rays could find their way down, striking through the 
leaves and lighting them with a pure transparent green." 

After a fortnight of railroads and steamboats, they saw 
once more the familiar features of home. 



INSTRUCTOR LITERATURE SERIES - Continued. 



History and Biography 

5 Story oilrincoln—jRetier 
56 Indian Children Tales—Bush 
79 A Ivittle New England Viking— ^a-^^r 

81 Story of DeSoto—Baifield 

82 Story of Daniel Boove—Jitiier 

83 Story of Printing— i^cCa*^ 

84 Story of David Crockett— /?<?zV<;r 

85 Story of Patrick Henry— Littlejield 

86 American Inventors— I (Whitney and 

Palton)— Farts 

87 American Inventors— II (Morse and Edi- 

son)— i^sr/^ 

88 American Naval Heroes (Jones, Perry, 

Farragut) — Bush 

89 Fremont and Kit Carson— /7<rfrf 

178 Story of Lexington and Bunker Hill. 

182 Story of Joan of Arc — McFee 
Literature 

90 Selections from lyougfellow— I 

91 Story of Eugene Field — McCahe 

195 Night before Christmas and Clher 
Christmas Poems and Stories. 

201 Alice's First Adventures in Wonder- 

land — Carroll 

202 Alice's Further Adventures in Wonder- 

land- '^ a rro// 
207 Famous Artists II — Reynolds — Murillo 
in Water iBabies {h.\>x\(S.%e(\.)—Kingslev 
35 Goody Two-Shoes 
103 Stories from the Old Testament— .l/r/v'.f 

FIFTH YEAR 
Nature 

92 Animal Life in the Sea— yl/r/><? 

93 Story of Silk — Brown 

94 Story of Sugar— i'?^27<?f 

96 What We Drink (Tea, Coffee and Cocoa) 
139 Peeps into Bird Nooks, 11— McFee 

210 Snowdrops and Crocuses — Matin 

History and Biography 
16 Explorations of the Northwest 
80 Story of the Csihots—Mc Bride 

97 Story of the Norsemen — Hanson 

98 Story of Nathan HaXe—McCabe 

99 Story of Jefferson — McCabe 
100 Story of M-yaxxX.— McFee. 

loi Story of Robert E. 'Lee—McKane 

105 Story of Canada— Z'tiz/.e/a^ 

106 Story of Mexico — McCabe 

107 Story of Robert IvOuisStevenson—^7<i/( 
141 Story of Grant— il/cA'aw^ 

144 Story of Steam— il/cCa^^ 

145 Story of McKinley — Mc Bride 

179 Story of the Flag — Baker 

190 Story of Father YLe\\\\ex,\xs.—McBrtde 

191 Story of LaSalle—il/ciJrzrf^ 

185 Story of the First Crusade— il/^arf 

217 Story of Florence Nightingale— i1f<ri^^«? 

2i8 Story of Peter Q.oo'^ex—McFee 

no Story of Hawthorne— Afci^^^ 

232 Story of Shakespeare 

Literature 

8 King of the Golden River — Ruskin 

9 The Golden Touch— Hawthorne 

108 History in Verse (Sheridan's Ride, In- 

dependence Bell, etc.) 

180 Story of Aladdin and of Ali Baba— Z^zr /.y 

183 A Dog of Flanders— Z>^ la Ramee 



184 The Nurnberg Stove — De la Ramee 

186 Heroes from King ?>.Y{.\\\xT—Grames 
194 Whittier's Poems. Selected. 

199 Jackanapes — Eiuing 

200 The Child of Urbiuo— Z>^ la Ramee 
20S Heroes of Asgard— Selection •i-A'^ary 
212 Stories frcm Robiu Woo^— Bush 

234 Poems Worth Kuowiug— Book II- Inter- 
mediate 

SIXTH YEAR 
Natui? 
109 Gifts of the I^orest (Rubber, Cinchona, 

Resin, '::z.)—McFc: 
Geography 

114 Great European Cities I (London and 

Paris)— ^/«sA 

115 Great European Cities — 1' (Rome and 

Berlin) — Bus/i 

i38 Great European Citiv.'— Ill v.3t. Peters- 
burg and Constaminopie) — Bush 

History and Biography 

116 Old English Heroes (Alfred, Richa'-d the 

Lion-Heaited, The Black Prince) 

117 Later English Heroes (Cromwell, Well- 

ington, Gladstone) — Bush 

160 Heroes of the Revolution— 7"; /5/;<:;;/ 
163 Stories of Courage— ^?<.y// 

187 Lives of Webster and Clay - Tiisii am 
1S8 Story of Napoleon — Bush 

189 Stories of Hgyoxsiw—B ush 

197 Story of Lafayette— /?//,v// 

198 Story of Roger W\\V\a\\\%—'Le ighlou 
209 Lewis and Clark Expedition — //i"r«(/.);/ 
219 Story of Iowa — McFee 

224 Story of William Tell — Hallock 
Literature 

10 The Snow Image — Hawthorne 

11 Rip Van Winkle— /r7/«^ 

12 Legend of Sleepy Hollow — Irving 
22 Rab and His Friends — Bro7vn 

24 Three Golden Apples — Haivthome 

25 The Miraculous Pitcher— //aa //«•;;.•<' 

26 The 'Minota.u.T-^Hawlhorne 

119 Brj'ant's Tlianatopsis and Other Poems 

120 Selections from Longfellow— II 

121 Selections from Holmes 

122 The Pied Piper of Hamelin — Browning 

161 The Great Carbuncle, Mr. Higgiu- 

botham's Catastrophe, Snowflakes— 
Hazvthorne 
1G2 The Pj-gmies — Haxvthorne 

222 Kiugsiey's Greek Heroes— Part T. Tlie 

Story of Perseus 

223 Kiugsiey's Greek Heroes — Part II. The 

Story of Theseus 

225 Tennyson's Poems — For various grades 
229 Responsive Bible Readings— 2'^//d'; 

SEVENTH YEAR 
Literature 

13 Courtship of Miles Standish 

14 Evangeline — Longfellow 
i<; Snow Bound — Whittier 

20 The Great Stone Pace—Hawthorne 

123 Selections from Wordsworth 

124 Selections from S!ielley and Keats 

125 Selections from ^Merchant of Veu'ce 
147 Story of King Arthur as told by Tenny- 
son— //a/Zoc/^ 

Coiitivufd on nrxt page 



INSTRUCTOR LITERATU LiBRflRV ^^^^^^^ 



149 Mau Without a Country, The — Hale 

192 Story of Jeau Valjean. ' 

193 Selections from Vhe Sketch Book. 
196 Tlie Gray Champion — Hawthorne 
213 Poems of Thomas Moore— Selected 

216 lyamb's Tales from Shakespeare— Select- 

ed 
23i)The Oregon Trail(Condensed from Park- 
=^ man) 

238 Lamb's Adventures of Ulysses— Part I 

239 Lamb's Adventures of Ulysses— Part II 

BiaHTH YEAR 
Literature 

17 Enoch Arden — Tennyson 

18 "Vision of Sir Lauufal — Lowell 

19 Cotter's Saturtlay 'is'\^\\\_— Burns 
23 The Deserted Village— Co/rfjwj'/A 

126 Rime of the Ancieut Mariner 

127 Gray's Elegy and Other Poems 

128 Speeches of Lincoln 

129 Selections from Julius Csesar 

130 Selections from Henry the Eighth 

131 Selections from Macbeth 

Price 5 Cents Eacli. Postage, 1 Cen 

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142 Scott 

154 Scotl 

143 Build 

Lon 
148 Hora 

150 Bunk 

the —^ 
Webster 

151 Gold Bug, The— /'o^ 

153 Prisoner of Chillou and Other Poems 
Byron 

155 Rhoecus and Other Poems- -Lo7vell 

156 Edgar Allan Poe — Biograplij' auu 

lected Poems— Z./w^ 
158 "Washington's Farewell Address 

Other Papers 
169 Abram Joseph Ryan — Biography 

Selected Poems — SmitJi 
17c PaulH. Hayne— Biography and Selected 

Poems — Link 
215 Life of Samuel Johnson — Macavlav 
221 Sir Roger de Coverly Papers— ^^(/<//50m 
237 Lay of the Last Minstrel— 6'co/ A lulro- 

duction and Canto I 
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259 A Christmas Carol. Charles Dickens. 
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